Prarie+Winds+Poetry

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Prairie Winds

MUD PIES Holly Kimble

//**This poem is dedicated to my sister, Joleen, and all the treasured memories we have from growing up on a ranch in Montana. Just one insight into all the adventures we had!**//

Race to a stream and drop to their knees. Filling plastic cups with spring’s cold water, Sifting in dry dirt, that is the batter. Becomes gooey and slimy through fingers and toes, Dried clumps in hair, mud spatters clean clothes. Pouring the thick mixture, the texture is right, Into rusted cake pans much to their delight. Sunrays beam down from a clear blue sky, As two sisters wait on their sun-baked mud pies.
 * Two little sisters smiling with glee,

Soft Rain Holly Kimble

//While at Rock Springs, we faired rainy and overcast weather, the soft rain reminded me of its renewal, and cleansing.//

I am— Tears from heaven, Soft kisses to a child’s cheek.

I am— Droplets that collect Mud puddles for yellow rain boots.

I am— Clumps to mud, Leaving impressions in the good earth.

I am— Water in its purest form, Deep greens of all hues unleashed.

I am— Tears from heaven, God’s eraser to wipe away pain.

I am Soft rain. Fuel the Flames Holly Kimble**


 * **//We sat around fires quite a bit during the day and evening. All of us are compelled to sit by a fire, to feel its warmth and energy. This poem defines man’s relationship to fire.//**

Yellow flames devour dried pieces of kindling. Snap, crackle, it awakens white-gray ash creates, A dirty bed, a final resting place. Colors magnetic, polarize---draw me nearer. Hypnotic—a symbiotic relationship, It gives, I take.. It fuels, I am restored. Slowly, ever so slowly, it draws me closer, closer, closer… Flames flicker, it loses power, begs for fuel, more wood. I feed it, watch its spark reignite growing higher, higher, higher… Man’s primal need of fire.
 * Blue embers lick over black-charred logs,

Life Stories by Jennifer Golden Faith: Sometimes faith is all I have. When the waves are crashing down, and I am drowning, faith is the hands rushing in to pull me out. And for that I am grateful. As a little girl cowering from those she loved, faith was the arm around me keeping me safe. As a young girl, afraid of everything outside her door, faith showed me all that I could experience. As a young woman tired of all the lies, drama, and pain, so tired that she was ready to end it all, faith pulled me off the proverbial ledge and convinced me I had something to live for. And though for my faith I may be persecuted, ridiculed, ignored, and outcasted, without it I would not be the person you see today, broken but living and healing each scar one by one till they are no more. Without faith I would not be a survivor; I would still be a victim. I make no apologies for my faith. Most times, faith is all I have.

Passion: I hear the crowds filing in. I’m fiddling with my clothes, applying the final touches to my makeup and hair. I can’t be still, can’t sit down, can’t calm myself. The auditorium is getting louder and louder, as more people are taking their seats. I’ve prepared weeks for this moment, memorized diligently, blocked tirelessly, lost sleep in anticipation. This is my definition. This is who I am. I spend every moment living for this feeling. The rush no drug can bring. The room is silent. The spotlight is on. I hear my cue. As I fall into character, and step onto the stage, I am alive again.

Nature: I always thought the pretty photographs of all the intricate leaves of tree were exaggerating. I had seen plenty of trees and they were just vague and blurry. Then I went to the eye doctor. When I walked out with my new glasses, I saw this creation with new eyes. Every leaf was clear and perfect. I had a whole new respect for nature. I still prefer the indoors though.

Pain: I looked in the mirror. there were tears running down the face of my seven-year old self. he comes in trying to be the good guy. i guess mom’s the bad guy. he says sweet things, but i ignore him so he starts to leave. under my breath i muttered one word. “stupid”. He turns around, enraged, and kicks my door in. Into my face. I feel nothing. I only look in the mirror and notice that i have a hole in my mouth. They wouldn’t let me look after that.

Music: I remember I once played great music . My fingers were nimble, and my mind sharp. I could pick up a piece and learn it instantly. Just as quickly, I could memorize it and play without the sheet. Now my fingers are fat and useless. I stumble over the simplest of tunes, forget the most basic of chords. I fell out of practice many years ago. Am I still a musician? I think not

Insomnia: I lie in bed, arms wrapped around my pillow, my mind racing. I finally doze off, but it is an empty sleep. When I wake up, I feel as if I never went to sleep at all. I used to wake up and look at the sky as the sun was rising and dream of flying away. Now I wake up in the darkness of my room, bemoaning the little numbers on my clock that tell me I still have several hours before the alarm goes off. Sometimes I feel as if all I ever do is sleep, and yet I am always tired. Insomnia is a bitch.

Freedom:

I don’t care if I offend you with the things I have to say I was always raised to tell the truth I don’t care if I offend you with how I dress or act Why should I hide or be ashamed of what I have God made me this way, and if you take offense That I feel free to exhibit the traits he has bestowed Then I invite you to take it up with Him Cause I don’t have time to deal with you

Let's Make History by Jennifer Golden As much as I protest I must confess I have an interest and I can’t explain it, I can’t contain it, I just know that when I smile and I laugh you’re the cause of all of it, I blame you for every single bit, and I’m not the kind to get attached, or at least I try not to be and so I’ve kept my distance from everything I thought would make me feel what I don’t wanna feel, I guess I’m afraid of something real, just know that I’m not easy to please, not easy to appease, that I’m hard to keep, and though I try not to be, I guess I’m restless, youth infected, like a bird I can’t be tethered down Let’s fit the pieces of our broken souls together till they’re whole, till they’re whole Let’s make a tragedy a comedy a romance you see something for the ages something for the pages of history, lets make history

Make Me New by Jennifer Golden

I've lost hope I've lost everything And I don't care Leave me here In my apathy I am scared And I, I can't admit it You can't see me cry But I, I can't forget it No matter how hard I try Blinded, in my sins I am bound Lost is how I am found Take me, my heart is open Because of how I've been broken Pick up the pieces and make them new Work me through the flames Make me pure again Out of these ashes make me new There was a time You were my everything You were always there You found me In my apathy Only You cared And You, You’ve always known me You’ve seen when I have cried and You've already forgiven me For every time I’ve tried Blinded, in my sins I am bound Lost is how I am found Take me my heart is open Because of how I’ve been broken Pick up the pieces and make them new Work me through the flames And make me pure again Out of these ashes make me new  Tulsa Giles

The days are spinning by Faster and faster I just want to get off This merry-go-round Called high school

Balancing projects With homework Social life with academic It spins out of control Get me off this Merry-go round

It teeters like a top The balance is shifting I’m about to fall Can I find the balance It seems impossible

The merry-go-round Ride is about to end High school life is almost over But now is when it teeters the most I must make it through the end

The spinning slows It’s almost stopped This uncontrollable ride Now that is over I don’t want it to end

The friendships made Leaving for a more frightening ride The one that is called life What’s next Uncertainty surrounds me

Leave me here To cling to the bars The known My family and friends I know what to expect

Spin me again on this merry-go-round The one called high school The one I know The one that I must soon abandon The one that has shown me who I am **

Blazing New Trails
 * Emily Thompson

Often I do not know what to expect. If I think I should demand perfection, I am wrong. If I think someone’s second best is acceptable, I wonder what would have happened had they pushed that extra bit. When I go around a bend in life’s path, thinking I know what lies ahead, I am __always__ mistaken. I do not truly know myself. How can I know what to expect from life if I do not even know what to expect from myself? How will I ever stand up for what I think is right if I do not know what I believe? Without my true self, I am but a stick in a stream, having my path dictated by the current, and lodging wherever it sees fit to place me. But were I to find me, to know me, to have my own beliefs, I would be UNSTOPPABLE. I would shape the course of the stream, and I would be mighty. I must find myself. I must blaze new trails within my mind. I am resolved.**

Turn On The Switch** Emily Thompson

The light, slowly fading Leeching all warmth from the room. The aqua radiance filtering through the blinds Poses the question, Are we underwater? Or in an ice castle?

Is night descending? Or is it in my head? Are we all dying? Or am I just mad?

Who is the hero in your fairy tale? (It is the one you know is right.) Throw off the labels given to you! Assume nothing, be everything.

An echoing burst of sound shatters the silence. It breaks into a million tiny pieces. Each one, jagged and incomplete Never to be united with its brothers again.

Every moment is a gift, begging to be used. If you miss it, that is it. It is __done__. That moment has ceased to be.

Will I succeed? Or will I fail? Is the light winning? Or will darkness prevail?

The light is almost gone now, But we have more to learn. Our lives need boundaries, And the light provides.

We are ruled by it, Forced to its every whim. It dictates our actions, It tells us when.

But man has conquered it. We know how to fight back, How to tell it to stop. We must turn on the switch.

We must banish the darkness from ourselves We must flood ourselves with knowledge We must destroy the dam We must be open to __all__.

The light is gone now, But we will still learn. We __ARE__ the light now, And shall be, forever more.

Windows Meg Rice

As through a window we reveal our true nature and spirit to a trusted audience in graphic image, precise word and genre. We attach permanence to fleeting thought and emotion with skilled pencil and pen, keyboard and brush. Digital image and words by Meg Rice (I'll attempt photo upload as directed.)

=The Future= Don Wagner

Discernment and focus are two skills we all need In order to live a life full of deeds That help us, not hurt us, as we move through our time And lead a life that’s rewarding, sublime. But sometimes I wonder how in this day and age When kids multi-task and rarely turn the page Of a book full of knowledge about right and wrong, Rarely stay on a task before distracted by songs On their ipods, texts on their phones, Updates on Facebook, advertisements to own This car, that device, these jeans or this drink Until they rarely ever sit alone and just think About what it means to live in this world— Instead their psyches are twisted and twirled, Afloat in a sea of constant attraction, Assailed on all sides by demanding distractions. Yet somehow I pray that they will come through and learn All they need to know to allay these concerns, Become good citizens in the land of the free And take pride in America, be all we can be.

A Rose’s Secret
A poem by Logan Cochran

It sits still and silent Calm and waiting As if it was already dead It still grows and blooms Impatiently awaiting its next shower.

Are you conscious of your existence? If you spoke what would you say? If your roots surfaced and went a distance Would you venture far away?

Make a move What’s to lose? You’re dying here Just like last year.

Is this plant very loyal? It keeps its secret well. Are you digging up the soil? You surely will not tell.

Make a move What’s to lose? You’re dying here Just like last year.

Faith A haiku by Logan Cochran These colorless walls Hold more meaning than I know And prove to no one

Uncertainty A haiku by Logan Cochran

It’s a mixed up mess That hides truth behind the clouds Quick cold storm vanished

A Poet? Nah… Alex Farr - Bennington High School Prairie Winds. Bitterly cold prairie winds that is. But that’s outside. Past gone, nil, no more, kaputsky. Now we are inside. The crackling of the fire warms the heart as much as the heat warms my frozen limbs. Were it not for the bacon and egg breakfast, (and of course the early morning Mountain Dew,) I would not have had the energy to walk through the frostbite-inducing wonderland that is Rock Springs. But it was worth it, well worth it. Even in creative writing class I never felt the freedom to write like I feel here. And I take solace in knowing that there are others around me writing as I do. I never thought of myself as much of a poetic writer. I’m more in it for the mechanics and grammar that goes along with essay writing. For instance, I just realized that I spelled “prairie” at the beginning of this. But I digress. It’s calm, I’m surrounded by people I know, and some I don’t, but who I share a lot in common with. The sound of the beloved heater, and the smell of the roaring fire fill my head with more information than I can process. As I’ve already said, I don’t feel like a poetic person, (or maybe I am, I don’t know,) but what I do know is that no matter what I write, it’s always what I feel. Hmmm… Maybe that does make me a poet after all.

Torture Ciara McMaster

I wail, I scream They torture me till I bleed I yell, I holler They don't know what else to do I cry, I bleed They laugh, they curse Near the end, blood dripping They don't care I die, caring Torture